


Hold Me

by Teaotter



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Bondage, Kink/Cliche Challenge, M/M, non-intercourse sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-23
Updated: 2005-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kon wants to help. Tim lets him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me

The dream is dark, full of thick shadows chasing him across the roofs until he throws himself awake, gasping for air. His room at the Tower should be darker than it is, the door closed and bolted as tightly as the extra locks he'd stopped using weeks before could've made it. _Should_ be, but isn't, and Tim blinks stupidly at the Kon-shaped shadow in the open door far longer than it should take him to recover.

Then again, 'should' hasn't been enough since -- since. Nothing he wants to think about, tonight or pretty much ever. So when Kon comes in, Tim just turns on the light, even if he doesn't want it. Lights make Kon more comfortable, make him talk - and sometimes Tim hates the talking so much he wants to smother every other person in the Tower and Bart twice, it's so much, but tonight it's. Enough. Something he can have.

"You should be sleeping." The tone is half-accusatory and half-absent minded, enough to make Tim wonder how many of Kon's late-night conversations with the Kents start just this way.

"I was."

The joke earns him half a laugh as Kon flops down on the edge of the bed and pulls his feet up. "I know. I just -- wanted to talk."

Tim scoots far enough away to defend his share of the covers. "So talk."

"I know. I'm getting there." Kon sighs dramatically, but doesn't look at him. "I'm just -- I'm worried about you, man."

"I'm --"

"And don't say you're fine! You don't know how fucking creepy it is when you say that."

He really _does_ know, he can see it every time they look away from him. But what else is he supposed to say? "Sorry."

"I couldn't sleep. Today in practice--" and Tim winces. It was a stupid mistake, and he should be glad he made it here and not in the field. He should be glad he's not fucking up _that_ badly. He should be.

"-- and no one expects you to be fine, man, but you're still _here_. And I keep thinking -- And you didn't even lock your door!" Kon glares at him. "And that's... really not like you, you know?"

"I know."

"And it scares me." Kon laughs harshly. "Listen to me. I keep thinking if I talk enough you'll have to say something. As if that'll help. I. You're supposed to make the plans here. Tell me what to do."

There are things Tim knows would make him feel better. Things that crawl up out of the dark sometimes when he's alone. Things he might be able to get, in the right places, with the right people, but nothing he could ever ask for.

They stare quietly at the floor for a moment before Kon lets it go. "You wanna go hit something? We could probably find something. Or I could just piss you off."

The noise Tim makes hovers somewhere between a growl and a laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Stupid idea." Kon shrugs again. "But I would if you wanted to."

"You want to help me?" Tim isn't sure why it comes out, and he knows it's the wrong thing to say, because Kon will only say

"Yeah," like it's the only answer in the universe. And he looks at Tim like he knows what he's offering, or it doesn't matter to him anyway, and Tim just. Can't. He tells himself he'll find a way to make it okay. Something less fucked up than it is in his head.

He takes Kon's hand and wraps it around his other wrist. "Squeeze." The pressure is instant, and it makes something in his shoulders relax. "Harder."

"Like this?" Kon's trying to meet his eyes, his voice uncertain but determined.

Tim nods and closes his eyes. "Don't let go."

He knows a dozen ways to twist out of a hold like this. It's simple, moronic, and. Beautiful. He tugs carefully against Kon's grip, then pulls steadily once he's sure Kon won't let go. He holds up his other wrist and feels warm fingers immediately enclose it, and tighten.

"Tim?" It's breathless and even less certain than a moment ago, but Kon's hands are solid.

"Just. Don't let go." He pulls against Kon's hold, then slowly. Slowly. Begins to struggle, letting the motions grow slowly enough not to startle Kon into letting go.

It's hard not to throw himself into it, not to _fight_, but this is Kon, and he has to be careful. Careful not to let his elbows jam into the wall, or not too loudly. Careful not to twist too hard, or too suddenly. He can't let it look like he's fighting, can't let Kon think that it's fucked up.

And he can't ask Kon to hold him down, but he can be grateful when he does, one leg thrown over his and the bedcovers bunched up underneath them both. It's not a pin, nothing he can't move in, but Kon's weight is all around him and it feels so fucking good he wants to cry.

They're both panting, and Tim can't decide if it's better or worse that Kon's working for it, too. But he wraps his knee around Kon's leg and twists up, and Kon suddenly moans. And freezes.

Tim can see it clearly. He can do nothing, lie here, and let Kon think he's done something horrible and wrong. Let him pull back into himself. Tim wouldn't have to remind him tomorrow to pretend that nothing had happened. That had its appeal. Deniability.

But more than that, he needs this to be okay for Kon, needs this not to fuck somebody up. Just once.

So he arches up, and moans. He's rewarded by Kon's low growl and the weight of a very warm body pressing him back into the bed.

Tim's not hard yet, but Kon is, and Tim knows he can get there soon enough just by twisting up against his friend's body and letting the noises fall out of his mouth. Needy little noises, whining, pleading all the things he hadn't let himself ask for. Like yes, and more, and please don't stop.

Kon doesn't seem to mind, just grunting right with him and thrusting against him and saying his name over and over again like it's the only word he can remember anymore. Tim's hands are loose on the bed, and it'd frighten him if Kon wasn't practically shoving him down into the mattress with each thrust, if Kon's hands weren't pressing at his chest and his sides like Kon wants to squeeze the breath out of him.

The thought makes him moan and fight to breathe only when it's impossible. Kon answers with a sharp bite to his collarbone, and Tim forgets to breathe at all for a minute. And yeah, he's hard now, and keeping his hands against the bed is suddenly the least important thing in the world. It's nothing at all compared to getting Kon's jeans open and under and tracing the elastic of his shorts.

"Shit. Yeah." Kon's breath is hot against his cheek.

Tim wishes his hands were more fumbling, but Kon doesn't seem to mind that either. He just lifts up enough to push his jeans down to his knees, and yeah. Skin.

And the lack of pressure makes Tim's heart seize up. There's too much space between them, space enough to think and move and absolutely everything that doesn't belong here right now.

So he wraps his hand around Kon's dick. He's got a moment to register hot, and smooth, before Kon collapses against him. Kon works his own hand between them and around Tim's dick, so that each thrust drives their hands into the soft skin of his belly like a punch, but Kon's moaning and it covers the whimpers he can't stop making at how good it all feels, that Kon would let him and use him and moan just like that. That Kon would touch his face like this was something that wasn't fucked up beyond imagining, as if needing this wasn't something fucked up, something broken --

And Tim is coming, like that, Kon's hand pressed against his cheek and the other wrapped around his dick. And Kon thrusts again, and shakes, and Tim can feel the spreading heat between them. And it's... good. Or good enough, just to lie there and let it be whatever Kon needs it to be, until he has to let go.


End file.
